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I am lucky guy because I grew up in a land of freedom, a country where men decided to free themselves in 1789 with the French Revolution and chose to write the Human Rights declaration.
However when I was a young kid, it was still a country with some degree of censorship and restricted rights for women. There was a public organization whose job was to watch over youth publication and apply censorship if needed. And a newspaper could be shut down or a TV show canceled on a single call from the Ministry of Information ;
And at that time, women who wanted to apply for a job, still needed to get a written authorization from their husband.

There were very few TV programs for kids, except on Thursday, the day off at school.
Comics were our primary home entertainment, with 3 main magazines ‘Le Journal de Tintin’, ‘Spirou’ and’ Pilote’ with its emblematic character, Asterix le Gaulois, who featured exactly French spirit: a nation divided in as many opinions than citizens, but able to talk with a single voice when it needs to.

In Pilote weekly magazine, there was another character we all loved. Le Grand Duduche created by Cabu was a lazy irreverent high school student… like us. He used to wear jeans and basketball shoes. Like us ! He also had long hairs. Like us ! He was an antimilitarist, like us and any youngster in the 70’s. And he hated overall human stupidity combined with vulgarity from people full of certainty that always hit you with their truth.
In the 70’s, underground magazines were also banned (well I suppose they wouldn’t be called underground otherwise). So, we used to go directly at one of the author’s home, to secretly buy ‘sous la couverture’ L’Echo des Savanes, the first comic magazine for adults, who exuded its toilet humor. Not that we loved toilet humor, but since these magazines were forbidden, this type of humor had the taste of freedom for us.

At that time Hara Kiri, the predecessor to Charlie Hebdo, a satirical magazine, which prided himself to be ‘bête et méchant’ (stupid and bad), was shut down for its irreverent cover (‘Bal tragique à Colombey’) when General de Gaulle died. But the whole staff of the satirical newspaper decided it should be born again, under the name “Charlie Hebdo”, in a ironic reference to the General.
This weekly newspaper used to blast every form of order, among which 3 main pillars as favorite targets: Justice, Religion and Republican order (Soldiers, cops, etc..). Cabu specially loved to ridicule the army with his main character ‘Adjutant Kronenbourg’ in reference to the (awful) beer that was served in the bars of every military camp.
So, I used to smuggle Charlie in the barracks of the regiment I have been sent to, on military service, to give myself a touch of rebel.
Later on, Le Grand Duduche progressively became more a pacifist than an antimilitarist guy and turned out to be a poetic ecologist. Above all it became obvious he was a never grown-up teenager, which was one more reason for me to love him.

Little by little, after years of battle the very last remaining of censorship were banned…and Charlie Hebdo came back to a more confidential circulation, though it never gave up its satirical spirit, pointing out and blasting every dysfunction of our modern world, like a king’s fool.

All these memories were brought to the surface with the terrible terrorist attack. Like millions of citizen of this country, French people I was knocked to see one could be shot for having tried to make laugh people with a pencil and a paper. I was unable to draw for a few days, loosing all sense of humor.
I realized behind the lost of friends and companions that filled my life with instants of joy, the freedom our generation and generations before have fought for was at stake: freedom of thoughts, freedom of expression, women rights…modern civilization!

Little by little I realized, I needed to exorcise this savagery with the comics Characters of my childhood, and started drawing Tintin, Spirou, Asterix, mourning their friend Le Grand Duduche, to claim with them ‘Je Suis Charlie.’
Then I put my pen on my desk and decided to move along.

So, I did not listen to those who told me not to mobilize for this weekly rag.
I did not listen to those who did not want to march with the National Front, or those who refused to do so with the “Red Leftists”.
I did not listen to right-thinking intellectuals, for whom the very idea of this gathering would be against Charlie’s spirit.
I refused to hear cowards advising me to avoid a dangerous place which would be a perfect target for terrorists.

No, I went walking simply because I was Charlie.
Not that I am a very avid reader: I bought it less often than I should have and they often irritated me more than they made me laugh.

No, I went walking to tell my commitment Republic key values, more specifically freedom of expression, the foundation of our democracy.
I went walking to share the sorrow of families of the victims, to express my rejection of violence and claim the terrorists I was not afraid… we all were not afraid !
I went walking to testify with 4 million people that the poison of hatred and division would not grow in France.

I went walking silently with fervor with a worthy crowd to claim to the world that nothing could ever destabilize this country because what unites it is stronger than what may divide it.
I hugged an old “harki” (muslim vet in the french army) with wet eyes, thanking him for being there. I helped my neighbor to hold up a sign ‘Je suis Hyper Casher’ (‘I am Hyper Kosher’). I met one or two famous people who came anonymously and some coquettish girls, with a pencil proudly planted in the bun. I saw, for the first time, what Freemasons in uniform looked like. I applauded police squads with the crowd. I met friends of the victims in tears and I even found a Charlie (Waldo in french) with his red hat and his striped sweater.

Today Je suis Charlie and I hope I have written a new page of France history with millions of people of good will.

While drawing Flinflins covers is a always a real pleasure, coloring them still remains a pain.
The reason is simple: while you can always correct a drawing before inking, there’s no way you can rectify a bad color. Watercolor inks will not tolerate any remorse: you can’t add an extra layer, if you made a mistake or even simply a minor blot.
Thus, until the last minute of the coloring phase you can totally ruin your sketch.
Besides this, Hergé style in terms of color, whether it is effective is not the most pleasant to execute : no shadow, just solid color, so characteristic of his ” Ligne Claire style.
This is probably why I have so many drawings waiting in my drawing cardboard. I always find a good excuse to escape the final phase of coloring and complete the drawing.
This morning, deciding enough is enough, I attacked the coloring a old drawing of getaway of the Flinflins tribe to Chausey Islands and Mont Saint Michel, a delicate operation because I had in mind to restore a nightlife. As a precaution, I went through some quick trials, coloring on a photocopy before attacking the final illustration.
To be continued …

Anyone who stays in Istanbul, falls immediately in love with the Bosphorus flowing between the European and the Asian districts of the city. Small “vapurs” cross the strait from one bank to another, regularly announcing their departure in a charming old-fashioned concert of foghorns.
At sunset the place to be is the Golden Horn where all you need is to sit on a terrace and sip raki watching the ballet of boats.
This is where the Flinflins family was enjoying the delights of a family event, yet another opportunity to enrich the saga with a new episode: Gold in Bosphorus!
This time there was a little extra challenge: how to cram everyone into a single image with an easy-to-recognize face in this Hergé’s style so difficult to mimic.
I’m not sure the final result is a satisfactory one ! And unfortunately there was no space left to accommodate some mythical characters – beyond Snowy of course – of Tintin’s adventures. We’ll do better next time!
(To be continued …)

Flinflin has a long love affair with Jeeps Willy’s. It must have probably started, as a very young boy, when discovering Tintin and the land of black gold with this surprising glossy red jeep.
Flinflins’ young sons wanted to visit the beaches of the Normandy landing.
In Arromanches, there is a small museum telling the story of the outstanding temporary harbor built by the Allied forces in 12 days by which 2 millions men and 500 000 vehicles landed.

Flinflin immediately spotted the beautiful Jeep Willys who sat in a corner of the museum and felt there was here a wonderful topic for the next Flinflins cover. The next stop in Omaha Beach should probably provide the right setting.

That evening, back home, sitting at his drawing board, Flinflin started to scribble the first sketches on a tiny A4 sheet of paper.

Should we put a view from the embrasure of a blockhouse, or would it be better to leave the Jeep thrive in full screen ?

While Tintin generally used to tour on the Swiss side of the Alps, the Flinflins often go on the French slopes. This very winter was their first attempt to sky the Vallée Blanche. For those who never heard of the Vallée Blanche, it is a huge glacial valley in the heart of the Mont Blanc, and at wintertime, a fabulous 20 kilometers backcountry ski touring, starting from the ridge of the Aiguille du Midi down to Chamonix.
Unfortunately, this winter, the weather was really disastrous: an endless snowstorm that lasted the whole week.
Each morning we came out fully equipped hoping the weather would change. But the barometer, as the pendulum of professor calculus remained desperately invariant. We couldn’t see anything beyond a few yards. With our storm harnesses, we all looked like Yetis in the fog.
Luckily the Flinflins had chosen to stay with in the wonderful mountain lodge of their grandfather’s friends in Chamonix. As he was an antique dealer, he has beautifully decorated his cottage with very fine antique furniture and gorgeous alpine decoration.
So, we spend most of our time, in the warm cottage listening to the old stories of the Valley as this grandfather was also a charming storyteller.
And this cover says it all…